


feed me fables from your head

by kadma



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Mentor/Protégé
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-23 08:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11399235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadma/pseuds/kadma
Summary: Abigail's hands are cold, like she remembers her father's being straight after a hunt. But where he brought anguish and fright, Bedelia brings a blood-song deeper than any lust she's known.Written forPrime Time Madness 2017.





	feed me fables from your head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenPhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenPhoenix/gifts).



Bedelia bathed in not-her-blood is a miracle, both frightening and wondrous. Abigail lingers in the doorway like a waning ray of moonlight, watching the Madonna smile in cold refusal to weep, dipping her fingers in and out of the stained bathtub.

Abigail's hands are cold, like she remembers her father's being straight after a hunt. But where he brought anguish and fright, Bedelia brings a blood-song deeper than any lust she's known. She teaches Abigail how to quiet her mind.

"Use your hands," she says, quietly, but with authority. "Feel the flesh, bones, and muscle in every finger as you move."

Abigail raises the knife, but hesitates. Bedelia nods. She pushes past the rib-cage and works the sharp edge into the gristle. She cuts out the excess.

Bedelia teaches her many things. How to season a stew correctly. What the proper percentage of salt and pepper is in a marinade. Why certain meats taste better with age.

"You are not him, Abigail." Bedelia tangles her fingers in Abigail's dark locks, pulling her closer to her naked breast. Her lips are stained with blood or a red-wine reduction, Abigail can't tell the difference. But her skin is soft and she smells like the underside of a burned steak topped with thyme. "You are not your father. You are not Hannibal. You are exactly who you're supposed to be.

And she wants to ask, as she turns her head and looks into Bedelia's knowing eyes, the reflection of her own startled face haunting them, what exactly she is supposed to be. Bedelia kisses her forehead. She wraps the satin sheet around Abigail's trembling body, pressing her fingers into parts of her bare flesh like she's checking for anomalies, for bumps and bruises to cut out, to clean up, before devouring her entirely.


End file.
